


Sweeter than Heaven (Hotter Than Hell)

by superagentwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Background Relationships, F/M, Gen, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is still dealing with the after-effects of possession. Little does he know, there is something in him struggling to get free.<br/>Stiles learns what a 'Spark' is and the pack reacts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweeter than Heaven (Hotter Than Hell)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Слаще рая и горячее ада](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3307226) by [rootofallevil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rootofallevil/pseuds/rootofallevil)



Stiles doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

The nogitsune is gone and Malia keeps sneaking into his house. Derek is back to his normal age and everyone is safe, for now.

So why is he not happy?

There are several reasons, actually.

Malia is great but Stiles doesn’t feel like he’s in an actual relationship. She’s more about physical contact and- unfortunately- _marking_. He feels like his conversations are becoming more and more one-sided and it’s the worst thing in the world. The last thing he wants is to dump Malia out of nowhere, before they actually _become_ something.

Derek _is_ back but he seems different. Stiles doesn’t know why it’s so important to him but he knows that Derek isn’t the same- not just his wolf-ness but his personality.

And then there’s the nogitsune. Stiles _knows_ it’s gone- he logically knows this. But there’s an itch, a burning somewhere in his mind and he can’t shake it off. It clings to him like a persistent bite, an itch he doesn’t know if he should scratch. Because Stiles is afraid of his own mind. He’s afraid that if he touches the part of him that’s burning it will trigger something terrible.

There’s only one problem Stiles can immediately address.

 

* * *

 

Malia listens to Stiles when he talks and he feels like the world’s biggest asshole. He didn’t know what he was going to say. He still doesn’t know what exactly he’s saying.

Luckily, she understands.

“Look- I like you, Stiles. But I think- I think love is different when you’re human. It’s not the same. Being a coyote- the instinct is different. When you love pack, you’re…physical,” Malia tries to explain, and it sounds convoluted but Stiles knows what she’s talking about so he cuts her off, relieved.

“I know. And I think…maybe you should spend some more time figuring _you_ out before trying to be with someone else. Especially me,” Stiles adds, and he feels the pang in his heart as he says the words. Malia bites her lip, looking at the carpet, and then she glances back up. Stiles can see the worry and hesitance in her eyes.

“We…we’ll still be around…each other, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and he can’t help but smile. He really does love Malia- just maybe not the way he thought he did. She’s amazing and he’ll always protect her but right now he needs to deal with his own broken mind.

 

* * *

 

Derek is off-limits. Stiles isn’t going to try talking to him at all- he knows better than to ask because he won’t get any answers. So instead Stiles sucks it up and makes his way to Deaton.

The man seems unsurprised when Stiles shows up but Deaton _never_ seems surprised.

“How can I help you, Stiles?”

Loaded question that it is, Stiles takes a deep breath and answers.

“I think something’s wrong with me. I can still- I still _feel_ something, in my mind. There’s something there.”

Deaton’s expression becomes careful as he makes his way around the metal table to Stiles. His eyes appraise Stiles, from the dark shadows around his eyes to the way his fingers tap his leg impatiently.

“And you think…,”

“…it’s the nogitsune,” Stiles finishes the hanging sentence, swallowing hard when the words leave his mouth. It isn’t easy to admit that he’s afraid he might _still_ have some of the demon inside of him. Deaton simply nods, however, as if this were all routine. And maybe it is, to him.

“Have you considered you might simply be worried about it happening again?”

“That’s not it,” Stiles says firmly, and he blinks, eyes feeling dry and used. “I…I’ve felt this before. Not exactly. I mean, something like it. When I made the circle.”

It’s a confusing statement but Deaton tilts his head, pondering.

“The circle of ash? How does this feel similar?”

“I _know_ there’s something there,” Stiles says, and he realizes his hand is reaching to grasp something invisible. He quickly drops his hand, fingers twisting into his belt loops nervously.

“Have you considered that it may be your body trying to fight the possession off?” Deaton asks calmly, and he moves to the cabinets, pulling jars down. Stiles follows him slowly, chewing his lip with excess energy.

“What do you mean?”

“It may be that you need to let something happen,” Deaton explains, opening a bottle of dry leaves. Their scent is bitter and Stiles sniffs once, watching as Deaton drops a few onto a mesh cloth. “You might have driven the creature away but some of its influence might remain. Perhaps this is something you must confront by yourself.”

Deaton ties the cloth with deft fingers, replacing the bottle in the cabinet. Stiles looks down at the bag, an arm clutched against his chest as if to hold himself together.

“What is it for?”

“Drinking. You need sleep,” Deaton says, and his smile is one of understanding. “It’s like chamomile, but stronger. This will help you get some much-needed rest. Take it three hours before bed.”

Stiles feels the light weight of the tea in his hand and he rolls it around, the bitter scent wafting upwards.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, and when he turns to leave he feels dread in the pit of his stomach.

He’s afraid to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Stiles feels his eyelids growing heavy and he struggles to keep them open.

Derek is talking to Scott and Kira about something while Peter sits on the stairs and Lydia makes herself at home on a chair. The meeting was only supposed to be half an hour but it seemed to be dragging on forever. Stiles had drank the tea two hours ago in hopes that he would fall asleep as soon as he got home but it seems to be working faster than anticipated.

“…es. You okay?” Scott’s voice breaks through the foggy haze of reality and Stiles waves him away, pretending to rub his temples as if he has a headache. Scott frowns but looks away and Stiles feels his breathing slow perilously. _I have to get out of here._

The tea is going to kick in and Stiles can’t be anywhere near anybody.

“…wrong,” Stiles hears Derek say, and he doesn’t remember closing his eyes so he opens them, struggling. “Stiles. Stiles, can you hear me?”

“He’s just tired,” Peter reasons, and Stiles can _hear_ Peter’s eyes rolling. Lydia moves forward, adjusting Stiles so that he leans against the wall. He tries to move his mouth, tongue heavy.

“…away,” Stiles manages weakly, and he feels his hand move to Derek as if to push him. Derek frowns, stepping back a pace. Scott hovers over Stiles, worried.

“Stiles, what’s wrong? Did you take something?”

“…have to…stay aw-,” Stiles can’t form a sentence and suddenly the world turns sideways as he falls off the chair.

The last thing he sees is the blurred image of the moon hanging in the sky.

 

* * *

 

When Stiles opens his eyes he knows he isn’t awake.

Everything is pitch black like the closet Stiles used to sit in when he and Scott would play hide-and-seek. He remembers the silence, the stifling air, the way that if he sat there too long he’d start getting a strange feeling. Like dizziness, claustrophobia, fear.

It’s not like Stiles imagined. The blackness is darker than dark and a part of him realizes that he’s in his own mind. It’s a stark contrast from the bright white he’s used to when encountering a mind. The difference is unsettling.

 _Is it the Nogitsune?_ Stiles wonders with some amount of horror if the Nogitsune did something to him, made his mind this black hole. It’s frightening and for a minute he feels his vision spot.

There’s a scratching noise from a corner. Stiles turns and squints, trying to make out a shape. He sees the barest thin line, the edge of light infiltrating the ebony. Something moves across the strip of light like feet moving on the other side of a doorway and Stiles skips back a step, heart beating faster. Whatever it is, it’s on this side of the light.

The thing moves again and Stiles feels his breath catch in his throat. His eyes struggle to adjust and he makes out a shape, vague and shadowed.

A fox.

It’s ragged and tortured but it’s a fox. The creature is snarling, mouth pulled back from yellowing teeth. Some of the flesh of its cheek hangs off and its grotesque wounds are black with infection. Stiles swallows hard, wanting to run away but knowing there is nothing behind him but a wall. The fox scratches at the edge of light, inhuman noises escaping its mouth.

The door- as he imagines there must be- rattles briefly. Stiles gazes at the sliver of light and sees something moving on the other side.

 _There’s another one?_ For a minute Stiles panics, the tightness of his chest increasing exponentially. _Breathe,_ he reminds himself, and he steps quietly aside, thinking.

If the nogitsune is on this side of the door it must mean that it’s shut away. Trying to get out.

But why is something _trying_ to let it out from the other side?

Stiles doesn’t want it to get out but Deaton’s words echo back at him from his memory. _This is something you must confront._ Stiles breathes deeply, fists clenching. The fox stops its pacing and spins, growling into the dark. Stiles shifts his weight, preparing himself. He knows he has to open the door but he doesn’t know how.

 _This is when being a werewolf would come in handy,_ Stiles thinks to himself dryly, and then he lunges.

The door gives way in a burst of gold light and Stiles crosses his arms, letting them take the brunt of the impact as he slides forward. There is a snarl from behind him but he barely hears it because suddenly everything slows down.

The gold light feels familiar. Stiles thinks back to when he was holding dust in his hand.

_Be the spark._

Stiles reaches out, feeling a little silly but a lot right as he lets the light curl around him. Light, heat, and the scent of something familiar but just out of reach. It fills him suddenly and he gasps, body alight with feeling. The gold fills spaces he hadn’t realized were empty and ones he knew were there- from the nogitsune, his mother’s death. It flows warm through his veins and he feels the need to _stretch_.

Stiles arches off the ground, pushing up with his hands, eyes closed and mouth pulled into an ecstatic smile. It feels _right_.

The gold flicks inside of him, responding to the stretch.

There is a mangled yelp from behind Stiles and he turns to see the tortured fox slink into a corner, hackles rising as it stares at him with contempt. Stiles feels no fear when he sees it, only pity. The gold curls inside of him, ready.

Stiles feels it like a palpable substance, a stream of energy, a whip in his hands. He molds it carefully into a sphere, watching the fox carefully. The creature growls and snarls loudly, snapping its mouth as it backs further into the corner. Stiles is not afraid.

The gold flexes, there and then gone, and the fox lets out one last cry. Stiles feels a light go out like someone’s just turned off the lights in another room. The impact hits him, knocking his breath out for a moment. He realizes he’s on his back, staring at the ceiling.

The gold coils inside of Stiles like a snake. He closes his eyes and lets its warmth consume him.

 

* * *

 

“Stiles, wake up.”

It’s Derek. Stiles feels his brow furrow, the pin of a headache burrowing above his eyes. The sharp pain makes him flinch, hands rising uselessly to block nonexistent light.

“He’s awake,” Scott says from Stiles’ other side. There are sounds of feet against floor and Stiles inhales deeply like someone coming out of a deep slumber.

“Stiles, open your eyes,” Derek says, and Stiles doesn’t want to. He’s afraid. Why is he afraid?

“Stiles, we need to make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Lydia says sharply, and Stiles cracks his eyelids a fraction. Something is different.

“What is that?” Scott murmurs, and he reaches for Stiles’ face. Derek swats his hand away (Stiles can hear it) and shushes him.

“Come on, Stiles. Open your eyes,” Derek says, and he sounds worried as he helps Stiles sit up against the wall. Stiles brings a hand to his face, rubbing his eyelids experimentally. Something is different.

Stiles opens his eyes.

Peter inhales sharply from where he’s standing behind Lydia. Stiles blinks, squinting in the gold light. _What is that?_ It takes Stiles a moment to realize he’s _seeing_ the light. It’s not really there.

“What,” Stiles begins, but then the words die in his mouth and he takes in the way Derek is staring at him. The way Scott is slack-jawed where he’s crouching by Stiles’ side.

 _My eyes,_ Stiles thinks, and for a second panic sets in. He can’t be going blind, can he? The light dims for a moment and Stiles breathes deeply, calming himself.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, and it’s unsure and panicked and awed all at the same time. Stiles looks down at his fingers, confused.

“What is-,” Stiles breaks off again, not sure what to ask. Lydia soundlessly pulls her phone out of her purse, handing it to Stiles. The camera is open. Stiles looks down at the screen.

His eyes are golden lanterns.

 _Shit,_ Stiles thinks. _My dad can’t see this._ It’s only a second later that Stiles realizes it’s still there.

The gold is curled in his chest, warm and pulsing and _alive_.

Stiles reaches out to it tentatively, letting the whisper brush against him. He shivers a little at the contact. It feels ancient and new at the same time, the spirit of something he can’t quite put his finger on.

He remembers letting the warmth fill him and he feels it now, enveloping his limbs, every existence of his being. Stiles doesn’t know what to do so he calls it back softly, asking it to come back to his chest where it belongs- somewhere there in a place he doesn’t know the name for.

The response is immediate. He feels his world dim, the light that was there before gone and something else going with it. The impact is like a cold wind, warmth that had once been there disappearing. It almost feels like death.

Stiles chokes in surprise, suddenly weaker, and his hands hit the ground as he breathes heavily.

“What was that?”

 

* * *

 

The thing about Deaton is that he’s kind of available at any time. Including ten at night, apparently. Stiles can _feel_ the pack staring at him and it’s a bit unsettling.

Deaton’s fascinated gaze is also unsettling, in a different way.

“So this… _gold_ , you said- have you felt it before?”

“No,” Stiles says tiredly, and he leans back in his chair, wanting sleep. “I felt…like it had been missing. Like it was _supposed_ to be there.”

And isn’t that weird. Stiles didn’t even know he wasn’t _right_. He wasn’t…something. Not complete, but something like that.

“So…this isn’t _bad_?” Derek asks, and his tense shoulders seem to relax a bit. Stiles glances at him, curious. _Why does he care?_

The embarrassing thing about encountering a part of yourself that makes you _right_ is clarity. Now that Stiles has clarity he is absolutely sure of why he was so worried about Derek.

_I’m in love with him._

It’s not a crush and it’s not lust. Stiles feels _love_ for _Derek_. It’s bizarre but it makes so much sense. And it kind of explains why Stiles has always wanted to help Derek despite the man’s constant disparaging comments. Stiles knows who Derek is, has known for a while now, and he loves him.

“Not necessarily,” Deaton says, and it’s typically cryptic. Derek, frustrated, paces a few steps.

“What is…it? The… _gold_?” Derek asks. Stiles wants to smile at the way Derek’s scowling. It’s his drama queen look, the one he gets when he doesn’t know the whole story and someone won’t tell him.

“I’m not sure,” Deaton confesses, and Derek rubs his face with a tired hand. “But…it may just be……a _spark_.”

Stiles lets out a short, deranged laugh. Scott looks back at him worriedly but Stiles ignores him, standing on sore legs.

“Wait. That was a _thing_? Not just…some kind of cryptic advice?”

Deaton studies Stiles carefully, fingers smoothing over the metal table in the center of the room.

“It _is_ a saying. But it’s also a _thing_. I’ve just never seen it before. I don’t know that anyone has,” Deaton confesses, and Stiles groans, leaning over the metal table. Derek leans down in a second, gaze focused.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Stiles looks up at Derek, caught off guard. His expression must be disturbed because Derek steps back quickly, as if burned. Peter raises an eyebrow at the scene, glancing at Derek before returning his interested gaze to Stiles.

“Look- I don’t know what this does but I’d _really_ like to know if I can…control it, or something. What does _it_ even entail?”

“I can’t be certain,” Deaton says, and Stiles wants to smack his head into the wall with frustration. Deaton turns to retrieve something, though, and Stiles recognizes the book he holds as something incredibly old and probably singular.

“What’s that?”

“Here,” Deaton says, passing it to Stiles, and Stiles frowns. Deaton watches him closely

“Well, I don’t really know any foreign- oh,” Stiles says, flipping through a few pages. It’s in plain old English. “Aren’t these kinds of things usually in other languages? Like Latin? Are you sure it’s real?”

“Stiles- I can’t read it,” Deaton says calmly, but his face betrays his excitement. Stiles glances at Derek, temporarily thrown off.

“What- you’re messing with me, right? It’s- it’s in _English_ ,” Stiles says, slamming the heavy book on the table. He flips through the pages, picking a random spot and running his finger along the line of words as he reads, “’Finding these items during a full moon’-,”

“Stiles,” Lydia says suddenly, and he looks up to see the pack crowded around the table, varying degrees of astonishment on their faces. “That’s not English. It’s…I don’t know _what_ that is.”

Speechless, Stiles looks back down at the book. He realizes there is a faint sheen, like the glimmer of heat rising off pavement. The gold stretches in his chest and he instinctively reaches out, fingers pressing against the page as he slides his hand across as if smoothing the page.

The words and letters flicker and he sees something strange and unintelligible. They look like symbols, spirals and lines and dots curling intricately like Celtic knots.

“What,” Stiles breathes, and he looks to Deaton. The man is smiling, reaching for more books.

“Stiles, you are the _only one_ that can read it.”

 

* * *

 

The days pass strangely. Scott keeps doing double-takes, looking at Stiles as if he expects his friend to start glowing gold and speaking in tongues.

Derek is terrible. Stiles sees him for brief moments and he is _everywhere_. It’s like freshman year all over again but this time it isn’t Scott who’s being watched. Stiles feels like a dangerous animal and it’s starting to make his skin itch.

The itchiness could also be the gold. His _spark_ , Stiles corrects himself, and he feels the magic respond to him, slinking carefully around his chest. And it _is_ magic, according to Deaton- or something like it. The Spark is spelled with a capital S, Stiles learns after reading more of the book Deaton gave him. The indecipherable one.

Whatever the Spark is, no one knows. Apparently Stiles is still (mostly) physically human. He’s kind of closer to a witch or something. The power he has requires different things and Stiles isn’t sure what his specifically needs. All he knows is that it’s there and it feels enormous, like a well of light, his own private sun burning in his chest.

The Spark is actually small, Stiles learns, but the energy it produces varies. It’s called a Spark because it’s like a soul or something tiny residing within him, a facet of his self. The energy or power that results from the Spark is just that- the fire that he starts with his own light.

Stiles starts experimenting _very_ carefully. He starts with something easy- a science experiment. They’re supposed to heat a liquid and the Bunsen burners at school suck. While Scott is distracted Stiles reaches for the glass, fingers brushing it softly. The Spark flashes brightly, ready to do his bidding.

Stiles doesn’t have to _imagine_ something. He just _feels_ it, the concept of heat and the idea that the liquid needs to reach an exact temperature, and it _does_. It’s like breathing or walking and it comes so naturally that Stiles almost doesn’t realize it’s happened. The thermometer registers the change after a second, red shooting up across the ticks on the plastic.

The Spark hums warmly in his chest and Stiles imagines that it growls contentedly.

The next experiment doesn’t go as well.

Stiles is Derek’s with the pack. They’re all training and Stiles is sitting to the side, reading his book. For a moment he’s angry, angry that he’s still stuck in the corner, angry that he can’t do anything to help when they’re in trouble. The Spark in his chest surges to meet his rage and he irrationally thinks for a moment that he should just _unleash_ it.

Stiles slams his hands onto the table in front of him, face contorted in a silent snarl, and the table _flies_ across the room, splintering in a burst of metal and wood as it hits the wall.

The room is silent as the pack all stare at the wreckage. Stiles feels the book drop from his hands and he suddenly feels like a monster. They’re all staring and the looks of shock on their faces is so complete that he wants to curl into a ball in the corner, never raising his head again.

The despair burns right through his chest and the Spark shrinks. When Stiles rises to run from the room he finds himself suddenly reeling, breath gone and energy wasted as he collapses.

At first the pack is silent when he wakes up but then Scott scolds him for overexerting himself and they all follow suit.

“At least _try_ to figure out how it works before you accidentally kill yourself,” Malia says, and Stiles feels his heart swell.

They aren’t treating him like a freak. Like a dangerous animal.

Like a Spark.

 

* * *

 

It’s not until the next fight that Stiles realizes what his Spark _is_.

Kate has apparently been recruiting hunters to kill Scott. Seven of them make it into town and the pack are unprepared, unaware that there is a new threat. Stiles is the one to notice, one ear to the wire as always, when strange men take up residence at a local hotel.

The pack don’t really listen to him.

Stiles is frustrated that nothing has changed. He is angry but he keeps it in, not wanting his Spark to fly out of control. The Spark- which Stiles has decided, ironically, is relatively lupine- howls in protest.

Two days after Stiles warns them the hunters attack.

The pack is scattered, fighting tooth and claw, and Stiles is watching helplessly from his spot behind a boulder. The woods echo with snarls and gunshots and Stiles closes his eyes for a moment, hating himself for being useless.

Derek roars in pain.

Stiles opens his eyes to see Derek falling to his knees, an arrow embedded in his chest, and decides he’s had enough. The Spark within him agrees, rising like a wave of something powerful and ancient. Stiles emerges from his hiding place and Derek’s eyes widen.

“Stiles, no!”

Stiles ignores Derek as his vision floods with gold. The hunter turns to him, predatory smile fading, and Stiles feels his own mouth stretch in a toothy grin. God, he knows he looks horrifying. The gold in his eyes makes everything slow down a little and Stiles watches the world with awe, seeing connections and streams running around him in places he’d never realized were so _alive_ before.

The hunter rushes forward and Stiles thinks _dim the lights_ and the Spark complies. He casually flicks out with his hand, the urge to physically mimic his Spark moving his limbs. The hunter flies backwards and hits a tree with a loud _thump_.

A rustle behind Stiles alerts him to the hunter that had been fighting Kira. Stiles turns, inhumanly quick, and reaches for the man’s arm, flipping him over in midair. The hunter lands heavily and loses all the air in his lungs.

Stiles feels his Spark heating in his chest and he happily allows it to burn, watching the glow suddenly radiating from his skin.

 _I’m a fucking glow stick,_ Stiles thinks, amused. It’s kind of cool, though, and he concentrates the Spark in his hands, sweeping his arm in a wide arc. Two more hunters fly back against their will, collapsing in heaps of black and silver.

Stiles turns to look at the last hunter. He’s an older man, gaze unafraid, and his gun is leveled at Stiles’ chest.

The pack snaps out of their astonishment to growl violently at the hunter.

“You’re a monster,” the hunter spits, and Stiles feels like it should make him angry but it doesn’t.

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Stiles says calmly, and he lets his eyes dim for a moment. The hunter spits blood onto the ground between them, eyes filled with contempt. Derek snarls.

The gunshot is loud. Stiles can see it moving in slow motion as his world catches fire, gold illuminating everything. _Fire. That’s what it is._ He sees the bullet as it comes before his chest and he covers it with his hand, grasping before it can pierce his chest.

When Stiles blinks everything resumes around him and the man is suddenly crumpled on the ground. Scott and Derek are calling his name and he looks down to where his hand rests over his chest.

“Stiles,” Derek says frantically, and his hands flutter over Stiles’ chest. For a moment Stiles is scared that he imagined it all and he really _is_ going to die.

Stiles moves his hand, palm open, and looks down at the bullet nestled in it.

Derek’s breath leaves in a gasp and he falls to his knees, hands grasping Stiles’ arms. The pack move closer, eyes fixed on the silver shining in Stiles’ palm.

“How did you do that?” Scott asks and Stiles feels his mouth move wordlessly for a moment.

“You,” Stiles says, and the realization dawns on him. “All of you.”

“What?” Malia asks, confused, but there is realization on Kira’s face. Stiles looks at the bullet.

“All of you. I wanted to save you,” Stiles says, and he feels the dull ache in his bones begin to mount. Derek is still on his knees and Stiles leans down, hands on his shoulders. “I wanted to help.”

Derek looks up at Stiles with something new in his eyes- grateful, awed, and maybe a different emotion. Stiles doesn’t want to read into it, can’t set himself up for potential disaster, so he smiles and reaches forward to hug Derek.

“I’m going to help.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles learns soon after that his power rests in his friends.

He has (is) a Spark and his Spark lights a fire. Stiles has learned that when it comes to his friends he is willing to light a fire. While this is good news, Stiles also realizes that there are limitations.

For example, Stiles was unable to move for eight hours after his face-off with the hunters.

It took fifteen minutes for the pain to set in. Stiles was walking up the stairs to Derek’s loft with the pack and suddenly he felt warmth and felt blood trickle down his nose. He missed a step and fell hard on one knee, blood splashing on the stairs. Derek was there immediately, calling his name, and Stiles looked up dazedly.

 _“Shit- his eyes are bleeding too,”_ Derek had said, and Stiles remembered the only other time he’d heard Derek so panicked. _I have a habit of freaking him out._ It registered that Derek had said “eyes” and “bleeding” and Stiles blinked, feeling something wet fall down his face.

He’d passed out soon after and apparently Derek had relinquished his bed to the teenager. Stiles had slept eight hours straight before he was able to move, groaning and generally sore. After repeated questions after his health Stiles had assured them he was fine.

 _“And…I could feel you,”_ he had said, sure of what it was even as he spoke. _“Pack. You helped me heal,”_ Stiles explained, and as he looked at each of them he made sure to catch Peter’s eye. The man had blinked before assuming a bored stance but Stiles knew the truth. _You’re alone. You’ve always felt so alone. You’re not._

Stiles still doesn’t know the specifics but there are two things he’s sure about.

One: the pack fuels his Spark. He can do almost anything if they are involved.

Two: there is a limit to his strength (for now). His book makes cryptic references to gaining strength through practice and ‘increased channeling of emotion’, which Stiles can only guess means he has to control his inner Hulk.

Stiles is just glad that he can finally fight for his friends.

 

* * *

 

There’s a power outage that Stiles is sure is connected to Derek’s shitty oven. Thankfully the pizza is ready but Stiles doesn’t hold back when he pokes at Derek, insisting the ‘dinosaur oven’ is at fault.

The loft is pitch black and Lydia says something about candles when Stiles feels his Spark shift, warm and sure. He doesn’t bother saying anything, allowing it to move as it wants.

The pack is quiet as Stiles feels the glow illuminate his skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Kira whispers, and she smiles as she hugs Scott’s side. Stiles self-consciously goes about his business, cutting the pizza into precise pieces.

“Well don’t all jump at once,” Stiles says sarcastically, turning the three pizzas on the table around as he slices them. Scott just laughs before grabbing a plate and the rest of the pack follows suit.

Stiles feels a little bit silly, acting as a human candle, but he enjoys the warm buzz on his skin. It’s comforting in a way he imagines love feels like and he’s pretty sure this is the closest he’ll ever get to feeling something like that.

The pack falls asleep on the fifth Star Wars movie (but it’s not because they’re out of order, Stiles had explained). The pile of blankets and pillows is silent and Stiles sighs, leaning back and letting his glow ebb.

“Wait,” Derek says softly, and Stiles realizes he’s still awake. Stiles glances at him, careful not to look to long, and holds the golden glow close to his skin. Derek reaches out, looking for permission, and Stiles extends his hand.

Stiles swears there’s a physical spark when they touch.

Derek inhales sharply, fingers retreating for a moment, but then he reaches for Stiles again and it’s so _right_ it’s painful and Stiles feels his Spark reaching for Derek. He’s afraid for a moment, and Derek notices, eyes questioning.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Stiles whispers, and Derek smiles and Stiles almost dies. He had never imagined Derek’s smile. It’s better than anything he could have ever thought of.

“You won’t,” Derek assures him, and he laces their fingers together. Stiles leans closer, watching raptly as he lets his Spark free. The golden Spark stretches out happily, nuzzling at Derek affectionately. Stiles sees the gold light extend, illuminating from within.

Derek gasps for a second and he closes his eyes, letting the Spark in. Stiles knows what it feels like- a warm buzz, a pure _light_. Derek’s hand glows softly with light and he looks down at it with bright eyes. Stiles lets the Spark play for a little while, twisting and exploring Derek’s hand, before he calls it back.

Derek lets out a disappointed noise when the Spark leaves him. Stiles smiles a little bit, watching the light fade as he releases his magic a little more.

“Stiles,” Derek whispers, and his voice is filled with wonder. Stiles ducks his head, flexing his fingers as the gold fades to a soft glow.

“It’s kind of weird at first, I know,” Stiles explains, trying to avoid Derek’s eyes. “I think it’s-,”

“Perfect,” Derek finishes for him, and then his hand is on Stiles’ face and Stiles looks at Derek, blown away by the sheer admiration he finds there. He can’t believe what he’s seeing because it’s the same look he’s felt himself make before.

It’s love.

The Spark in Stiles roars to life and he feels it rise to the surface as he loses control, burning bright like a beacon as he kisses Derek. He can feel the light spark when their lips meet and Derek hums happily into the kiss, pulling Stiles closer. When they break apart Stiles feels his cheeks flushing under the gold light.

“Perfect,” Stiles whispers, and Derek smiles, fingers tracing swirls on the back of Stiles’ hand.

“It would be even more perfect if you turned off the light,” Peter drawls from the sofa.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow...I have a problem, and it's called Sterek. Also, I LOVE Spark Stiles. So here's a shameless Spark fic. I was going to separate it into chapters but I feel like it flowed better this way. According to reviews on this story I might continue Spark Stiles either in this verse or in another. R&R my lovelies!


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